Stronger Than Passion (43 page)

“And his own “fiancée;! At least your man was able to find out that Santa Anna is already laying plans to open up Christina’s mine - which she probably knows nothing about.”

“Are you going to tell her, hermano?” Julian asked.

“Yes. If I can get to her.”

“What will you do then? Leave her in Mexico City to be forced into marriage by Santa Anna anyway? Or accidentally shot by one of our own men when we take the town?”

“What in hell would you have me do? Kidnap her again?”

Julian smiled. “Why not?”

“No. I’ll warn her, but I won’t force her to go anywhere with me again. And neither will you.”

*

Christina greeted her visitor with well-trained calm.

Colonel Diaz affected his most military bearing.

“The General awaits you, Señora. Come with me.”

Christina had been told to expect Diaz’s visit by Luis, and that he would come to take her to Santa Anna. At long last, the general was making time to interview his cousin. Christina must go with Diaz to meet Santa Anna in secret; the general was incognito.

Christina fought to control her trepidation as she rode out of the city in an unmarked carriage. It would never do to show any fear to Santa Anna. Besides, why should she fear? She knew that she had done no wrong to Mexico.

Santa Anna, out of uniform and in an obvious state of impatience, met Christina’s conveyance in a village hidden in the hills. He joined her in the carriage, which was then instructed to drive slowly around the square.

For a brief moment, Santa Anna’s gallantry resurfaced. “My dear cousin, how lovely you are! Your adventures have certainly not harmed your beauty.”

Which was more than Christina could have said about him. His air of elegance was gone; he seemed gaunt and worried.

She thanked him and murmured a neutral greeting. Despite herself, she remembered what she had learned of this man during her stay in America.

As if he sensed her thoughts, he said, “Now, my dear, you must tell of your travels. I particularly wish to hear more of the man who abducted you from my party. Colonel Diaz seemed to have discovered very little of him when he talked with you.”

Christina plunged into a fresh recital of her story, nervous and hoping to conceal it. She tried to recall exactly what she had told Diaz, and to embellish it a little more. Would Santa Anna sense
her evasions?

He asked several questions, mainly concerning Michael. What sort of man was he? How had he treated her? What was his status in Washington? Did she know what part he played in the war? Was he on intimate terms with President Polk?

She had been asked some of these questions by Diaz. Yet it was worse, infinitely worse, to discuss Michael Brett with this man whom he hated. But she must sound convincing, she knew. Santa Anna was driven to desperation by this war - he would do all within his power to gain an advantage.

His questions grew more specific. Why had Brett returned her home? How had he done so? How was he able to enter Mexico unchallenged? Who else accompanied them on the trip? Who were his friends?

Her vagueness would become more noticeable now. She told some truth and some lies. She did not think Julian’s name.

And then Santa Anna asked her in soft tones if Michael Brett were involved in any guerilla activities. There had been much of that lately, and precious silver had been stolen. Did she know?

Of course not! He never permitted her access to his military affairs, she said. Otherwise, he would never have allowed her to go home.

Santa Anna watched her silently. He sighed.

“My dear, it is difficult for me to believe that you have sympathized with my enemies. Yet I know that Mexico is not your original home.”

“It is now! My estate is here, my friends . . .”

“Luis Arredondo is your true friend. He has defended you to me even better than you do yourself. He loves you.”

She didn’t know how to reply. What did Santa Anna intend?

She had scarcely a second to wonder. “My dear, Luis wishes to marry you. I believe you should marry. As the Marquesa de Lara, your loyalties would be above reproach.”

He wanted her to marry Luis, she repeated to herself in confusion. It was a veiled order, she knew. But why?

“I shall certainly consider it, your excellency. But I would like to know that there is no doubt of my integrity regardless.”

Santa Anna smiled, grasped her hand and kissed it. “You are an exceptional woman, my dear. Marry Luis and no one will dare to say otherwise.”

He signaled for the horses to stop.

*

Afternoon sunshine filtered through the windows of the sala.

Luis sat next to Christina, his soothing calm a distinct contrast to her own agitation.

Querida, he is right. We should be married, and without delay.”

“I will not be commanded to marry you, as though I were a soldier!”

“Of course not. You will marry me because you care for me - and I know that you do - and because I love you. I have always loved you. How I envied that idiot Felipé! I have waited for you for years. Reward my devotion.”

Luis leaned closer to her on the sofa and kissed her, lightly and tenderly. She allowed his kiss, thinking, and hating herself for it, that he was not Michael Brett and would never kiss her like Michael Brett.

“We will marry soon - before the Americans reach Mexico City. Then Santa Anna will allow me to remove you to my country estate, along with Paulita. You will be kept safe there until the end of the war.”

“I wish to go to my own home. Luis, what of my hacienda/”

“You know it is safe. The Americans are not looters, thank God. We will live there if you wish after the war. We will go anywhere you like - to Don Ignacio, perhaps where you may supervise his recovery from the fever which has kept him from you here. Or we could go to Spain.”

“Not Spain.” Must she marry Luis? Had Santa Anna’s “request” this morning been an order in actuality? What would he do if she refused? Luis, I don’t know if I should marry you. There are things, private things, which have happened to me that I have not told you about. There are things I have done that you do not know, and I can never tell you.”

“Then do not tell me. But marry me. You must. I will not let you go.”

Neither would Santa Anna. Christina felt a terrible need to cry.

*

Penny locked aghast. “But you can’t marry Señor Luis m’ lady!”

Maria Juana took violent exception to this. “And why shouldn’t the patrona wed a rich marquès? Where did you find this girl, patrona? She is obviously loco. Send her home.”

As Maria Juana had demanded this at least once a day since Penny had come with her orbit, Christina ignored it.

“Don Luis will take very good care of us, Penny.” she said.

“But m’ lady! You know he won’t be the same as . . .”

“Penny . . .”

“Do not argue with the patrona, you disgraceful girl!”

“Maria Juana, that is enough. I will have peace in this household if I must send one of you back to the hacienda through the Yanqui army.”

“You should give them this girl, she is one of their kind.”

“I am not! I’m from London, which is a deal finer than any town in this country.”

“Leave me alone, both of you. You have given me a headache.”

Maria Juana scowled at Penny, as though the patron’s headache were her fault alone. She shooed the red-haired girl out the door and exited herself - after promising to send up some tea. Christina paid no attention. She only knew that there was quiet in her rooms at last.

She longed, deeply and fervently, for her hacienda. There, she was a capable woman; there, she knew her own mind and events were shaped by her. Whenever she was away her life became swept up in large and unreal affairs that were nevertheless going to haunt her forever.

She rose from a blue-upholstered armchair to walk to her window overlooking the rear garden. The trees and shrubberies were well-pruned and tastefully arranged; rather like Luis himself. Yet the landscape held no hidden purposes or distressing secrets. Did Luis? What had Michael meant when he warned her not to marry him?

Where was Michael now? Christina tried, night after night, as she lay alone in the silk-hung four-poster bed in her room, not to wonder about him, not to remember him at all. When she did, inevitably, recall his face or his hands or his voice, she fought to concentrate on the hatred he had once aroused in her. But that hatred had long since turned to something else. She was unsure what.

Why had he asked John Locklyn to speak to her, to call on her? Locklyn had done so after the Embassy reception, and chatted about nothing of consequence, only observed her in an amiable if probing way. What was Locklyn to Michael . . . a friend, a colleague? She had too many questions, and too little time in which to discover answers.

She knew she was going to marry Luis, despite violent misgivings. She had no choice; Santa Anna had decreed it, and Santa Anna could put her in prison and torture her for further revelations of Michael if he liked. She didn’t believe he would do it, but war was war, as she had heard before, and Santa Anna was losing. How odd that she should have been suspected of withholding information by both sides of this one! How tragic that long after this war ended, she would live with the results of actions precipitated by it.

She should rest, she knew, before this evening when Luis would announce their engagement to his daughter and her duenna, and a few select friends. The celebrations were bound to run late. She should also write to Don Ignacio, who, but for a lingering illness, would have hurried through dangerous country to Mexico City to be with her. How she wished she could go to him! He would have forbad it, she knew, since any traveling was risky these days. Still, her father-in-law would be pleased with the news of her engagement.

There were others to whom she would like to write. Antoinette Torrance, for instance; her son Julian. She missed Julian, with all the regrets of interesting times past. She had no doubt that Julian, and possibly Michael, were involved in Santa Anna’s missing silver. She hoped, treasonously, that they were not caught.

She moved to the bed and lay on it. Soon she would move from this bedroom into the quarters of Luis’s former wife, which she would refurbish. Then Luis would be joining her in her bed, as would be his right.

A right she would gladly give to one other. One who had taken her, and left her, with no qualms. Damn him! She thought yet again. He was out of her life; he must be cast from her mind, as well.

It was the rainy season, and the morning’s blinding sunshine had given way in the afternoon to storm and rain. Christina sat curled on a sofa in Luis’ study, an undignified pose that only he was allowed to see and was the result of a late night spent at a fiesta. They were discussing the recent disturbing capitulation of Puebla as the rain fell outside the tall windows in gusting sheets.

“Santa Anna needs more men, and the money to pay them. He could not manage to rouse the people of Puebla to defend themselves for free; he will have as little luck here in Mexico City, I fear. He will soon be sending for the boys at the Chapultepee Military Academy if the situation does not improve!” Luis spoke in sardonic disgust. He sat at his desk, observing Christina over its top.

“Yet you should not throw your silver away, simply to prolong the inevitable,” Christina murmured.

“I must not lose any more of it to bandits, that is certainly true. Not that Santa Anna himself is much better.” He smiled grimly. “But I have heard rumors to the effect that it is Yanqui guerillas, and not merely bandits, who have been stealing from me. Specifically, a certain highly dangerous troop captained by a half-breed Comanche.”

Christina’s sleepiness dissipated. The tensing of her body caused her to sit up straighter.

“Oh?” she commented, keeping her voice bland. Abruptly she rose from the couch and walked to one window, staring out with her back to Luis.

“It is only a rumor, and a wild one at that. You should hear the absurd tales whispered by my peasants regarding this so-called Yanqui troop . . . but never wind. If it is true, then I will catch them eventually. I am considering certain traps now. And I will kill every one of them for causing so much trouble.”

“You must tell me what you are planning querido. I am sure I will appreciate your strategies,” she said, her hands raised to touch the cool glass of the windowpane.

“I am considering several things, but I must be certain of my facts first. Santa Anna has appealed to me most humbly for more silver, making promises which even he cannot keep; and I sent word this morning by his messenger that I will send him a shipment within a week’s time. By then, I expect to know the identity of the man who is leaking information at my mine. I will either kill him once he has made his confession, or use him to trap the thieves. I do not know yet.”

He left his seat and came to stand beside her. “But I am sure you do not wish to hear of my bloodthirsty actions. They must sound exceedingly cruel.”

She turned slightly to look up at him, her eyes narrowed and bleak. “They do. But I understand that you must protect your property. As the Texans must defend theirs.”